


maybe the real lover was the friend we kissed along the way

by CrypticNitwit



Category: Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pip is dumb as a brick but he'll get there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrypticNitwit/pseuds/CrypticNitwit
Summary: After a disastrous visit with the Havishams, Herbert is left to advise Pip on matters of the heart.
Relationships: Philip Pirrip/Herbert Pocket
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	maybe the real lover was the friend we kissed along the way

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to all you poor freshmen in quarantine.

_My dear Pip,_

_It’s been such a long time since you came to visit. I do wonder how you have changed, how you have grown, if you are yet a gentleman. Come down to Satis House. I long to see what you have become._

_Estella will arrive next week. She has been away, studying the feminine arts. I believe you will think she is quite changed, and quite as beautiful as the last time you saw her—and perhaps more beautiful still. I am sure she, too, will be eager to see you._

_We await you._

_Miss A. Havisham_

The yellowed paper, undoubtedly the same that had been in Satis House since Miss Havisham had been almost-married, had developed some wrinkles from Pip’s incessant reading of it. In the seven days since he had received it, he had read the letter a dozen times or more. Even now, in a carriage to visit the very woman who had written him, he fiddled with the paper, smoothing the creases with his fingertips.

“Handel, my dear fellow, I hardly think you’re likely to forget the address,” Herbert teased. 

Pip remembered himself and tucked the letter into the back of the book that was open in his lap. But try as he might, his mind was too busy to focus on reading. The thought of the coming visit twisted anticipatory delight and anxiety together in his stomach. The concoction, combined with the rolling of the carriage, was near enough to make him sick.

Across from Pip, Herbert propped his chin on his hand and resumed surveying the scenery rolling by. He’d seen Pip open the letter when he first received it, and, in a good mood himself from a fruitful day of looking-about, had become so caught up in Pip’s delight at receiving it that he had proposed they make a trip of it; of course, come the next day, they arrived at their senses—Miss Havisham was not likely to want to see him, and Herbert was not likely to want to see her. Still, Herbert said, he had promised Pip he would go, so by God he would go.

Herbert knew, of course, that it was hardly Miss Havisham Pip was longing to visit. He was polite enough not to mention his opinions on the matter. 

Pip could only hope Herbert would be polite enough not to mention the state of the little town he had come from, either; he had sworn off his past, and Herbert had agreed, swearing likewise, but saying so was one thing, and rolling through the muddy, unpaved streets in a carriage with the man was quite another.

As they passed through, Pip kept his back to his seat, staunchly ignoring the folk outside, thinking only of Estella and Miss Havisham, of the life he had been granted and all that they had yet to give him, were perhaps about to. Herbert did not seem nearly so bothered.

At last, Satis House loomed in the distance, the gate just visible through the overgrown thicket that had cropped up around the property. As Pip set his book aside and leaned eagerly towards the window, Herbert retreated from it, taking on quite an anxious expression himself. 

They passed through the gate without trouble. Pip was quite relieved to see that all traces of Orlick had been removed from the premises, as far as he could tell; the man who opened the gate was grey and pale and near as old as the very house he guarded. 

The carriage rolled up before the door, wheels grinding against the gravel and dirt, and came to a stop. Herbert met Pip’s eyes for a brief moment. “Handel,” he began, but then the coachman opened the door, and out went Pip.

Herbert stood beside Pip on the doorstep, his usual cheer utterly dissipated in the face of the dilapidated house before them. Only when his hand came to rest on Pip’s arm did Pip notice this, however; the furrow in his brow, the worry in his mouth. “Handel, I fear this was not as good of an idea as we had hoped.”

Pip smiled slightly. “I hardly think anything bad will happen.”

Herbert cast his eyes upon the upper windows as if looking for the spectre of its inhabitants. “I suspect something might. I hate to go inside again. Perhaps I’ll stay outside, get some fresh air,” he said, voice trailing off.

“I think it would do you good,” Pip said, clapping a hand on Herbert’s shoulder. “I hate to see you in such a state.”

A look of relief washed over Herbert’s face. “Yes, I think that’s just the thing-”

The door swung open at last with a terrible creak. In the doorway stood not Miss Havisham, not even Estella, but the same old maid who had attended them since the first day Pip had arrived—and still she looked just the same as ever. “Mister Pip,” she muttered, sounding rather displeased about his arrival, expected though it was. Then she turned a shrewd eye to Herbert. “And you?” she asked, not one ounce of civility about her.

Herbert looked akin to a frightened rabbit. “Herbert Pocket,” he said, voice an octave higher than Pip had ever heard it, “pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The woman sneered. “Pocket, eh? She don’t want any of your family here.” With that summary dismissal, she turned back to Pip. “Follow me.” And she disappeared into the darkened hall.

Pip flashed Herbert an apologetic look. “Perhaps the gardens...”

“Yes, the gardens,” Herbert echoed, coming back to himself. With a nervous laugh, he pat Pip’s arm. “Go, go,” he prompted Pip, and Pip went.

The maid stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting crossly for Pip to follow. It wasn’t as though he needed a guide, for he had been up those stairs dozens of times, tracked through the halls, stood in front of the wooden door and rapped his knuckles shyly against the wood, wringing his hat in his hands as she had walked away. But it was how it had always been, and so it was now.

“Come in,” called Miss Havisham’s weak voice.

When Pip stepped inside, he found a hauntingly familiar sight. Estella, though now a grown woman, sat once again at her mother’s knee as she tried jewels against her breast, her hair; though now her dark hair, once tied loosely and left to hang to her waist, was curled against her neck, and her white, childish dresses had been traded for a midnight blue gown. Only her eyes, dark and cutting as ever as she turned her gaze upon him, were the same.

But he was staring.

He offered the women a feeble greeting and stepped into the room, towards the light of the single candle that flickered on the only clear space on Miss Havisham’s dressing table, ever the same. Miss Havisham ignored his greeting and held up another jewel.

“What do you think of this one, Pip?” came her weary voice. “I think it sets off her hair quite nicely. So beautiful.” Her hands drifted slightly as she turned her head to look at him.

“It’s lovely,” Pip confessed.

Her eyes glimmered at that, and at last, she seemed to see him. “My,” she said, her voice lilting, “look how you’ve changed.” Her pale hands flitted to her mouth, then her hair. She turned to Estella. “What do you think?”

Estella met Pip’s eyes. “He looks coarse,” she said, “and common. As he ever was.”

Pip’s heart ached. Miss Havisham looked back to him. “Come sit, Pip, in the light here. Where I can see you. I would like to see you.”

Obediently, Pip came and sat in the chair before her, not daring to even brush the dust from the cushion for fear that he might offend. Already his heart pounded against his ribs; he dared not make a misstep.

Miss Havisham looked between him and Estella. “Tell me about London, Pip,” she said. And though Pip did, she seemed not to listen, instead continuing to hold jewels and brooches and glittering chains up to Estella so that they might sparkle in the light of the single candle. Only Estella’s gaze kept to him, and hers was so cold that several times throughout his rambling, unfocused speech, Pip’s voice grew quiet to the point of inaudibility, and he found it necessary to pause and draw strength.

When he at last exhausted the topic, Miss Havisham muttered, “Very good, very good,” though not particularly to him, nor particularly to Estella. A moment of silence passed before she returned to them. In her wavering voice, a necklace still clutched in her hands, she spoke to him. “Estella has just returned from her schooling in the North,” she said.

“I am to be sent off again in three days’ time,” Estella said, her voice sharp as the facets of the diamond her mother pressed to her neck. “I am not _complete_.” She glared at Pip as though it was his fault she was not complete. He felt bile rising in his throat at the hatred in her gaze.

“No,” said Miss Havisham, something strange in her voice. “But you will be, soon. And,” she leaned forward towards Pip, the light casting a ghastly shadow over one half of her face, “you will make a lovely wife. For a very lucky man.”

“As I was made to be,” Estella continued. “It is _all_ I was made to be.”

“To be loved,” Miss Havisham cooed. “As I love you.”

Pip found himself trapped in the gazes of the two women; one furious, angry, bright, and the other attentive, sharp, predatory. He found his mouth dry. No words came to his lips.

Even in the dim light, though, he could see Estella’s jaw clench at Miss Havisham’s last words. Pip was relieved of her gaze when, in a flurry of skirts, she stood and spun to look at her mother. “You do not.”

The diamond skittered across the floor. Miss Havisham looked, wide-eyed and shocked as Pip had ever seen her, upon her daughter. “Estella?”

Pip was suddenly rather glad that he had said nothing.

“I am heartless, as you have made me; you have become heartless as well,” Estella spat. 

Miss Havisham rose unsteadily to her feet. “Do not discredit me, Estella, you owe me all that you are.”

“So I do. You have made me this way, raised me _this way_. I cannot attribute it to your kind heart, and therefore-”

“ _Estella!_ ”

“-I must attribute it,” she continued, “to your lack of one.”

Miss Havisham fell back in her chair. Her mouth gaped, open, closed, as though she could scarcely find the words to react, could hardly choose what to focus on.

Estella turned to Pip, her cool facade donned once again. “I told you to never return, and yet you persist.” She folded her hands in front of her.

Pip, rather shocked, could only manage, “I wished to see you again.”

A delicate twist of Estella’s lips indicated her exact degree of disapproval. “I cannot love you,” she said, her words laced with more of the venom that had rendered Miss Havisham a—now crying—speechless mess on her chair. Estella looked at her over her shoulder and declared airily, “I am going to my room.” With a swish of her skirts, she brushed past Pip.

Pip jumped to follow her. “Estella!”

She stopped, already halfway down the hallway. She looked him up and down. “You cannot follow me to my room.”

“I- No. No, I,” he struggled, “only… I think you can. Love.”

Estella closed her eyes and turned away. “No.”

With a note of desperation, Pip tried, “But _I_ love you-”

“And that was your mistake,” Estella said, and disappeared down the hall, her blue skirts blending into the unlit hallway.

Pip sighed, doing his best to ignore the wrenching feeling in his own heart.

The maid, insidious and ever-present as always, appeared at his side. “Mister Pip,” she drawled, and he let her lead him outside. 

Before he had quite processed the event, he found himself in the blinding light of day, and, confusingly, dismissed to the same portion of the yard where he had been brought his meals as a child. He had half a mind to wait for Estella to come with a tray, stewing about in misery all the while, but the sound of another approaching him caught his attention instead.

What immense relief he felt when Herbert appeared from the remains of the brewery, and not the vision of Miss Havisham, come to haunt him, or the sour visage of Orlick, come for revenge! No; Herbert’s smile, backed by his chipper attitude once more, cut through the dark thoughts swirling about Pip’s head and left Pip feeling much lighter than he had moments ago. “Halloa, Handel,” he called, and Pip stepped forward to meet him.

“Halloa,” returned Pip. A smile found itself upon his lips as he remembered. “Have you come to challenge me again, then?”

Herbert laughed. “No, for I fear this time you would beat me, my dear boy.”

Pip raised an eyebrow. “I do believe I beat you the first time, as well.”

“Then you would undoubtedly beat me again.” Herbert glanced at the door over Pip’s shoulder, cheer dimming a little. “And how are the ladies Havisham today?” When Pip sighed, Herbert’s gaze turned sympathetic. “Ah.”

“Estella was hardly pleased to see me,” Pip said, once again beginning to fidget with his hat. 

Herbert gently removed it from his hands, instead linking his arm in Pip’s and nudging him forward. “Come, speak of it if you wish. And if you don’t, I should like to show you a lovely tree I found in bloom at the very edge of the garden. It’s terribly out of season and blooming all alone, the poor thing.”

Picking their way through the garden, Pip expressed his general misery to Herbert, and Herbert, in turn, expressed his sympathy, patient as ever. 

“And,” Pip said, coming to the end of his summary, “she said she cannot love me.”

Herbert looked at Pip. “Again?” It was barely a question.

“Again,” Pip confirmed.

After a moment’s pause—and a brief spat with a tangle of ivy creeping across the remains of the path—Herbert returned, “Perhaps it’s not so bad as all that, Handel.”

A desperate thread of hope worked its way into Pip’s voice. “You think she may yet love me?”

“Ah,” hedged Herbert, “no. But—don’t look so crestfallen, my dear boy, I’ve more to say—perhaps it is best.” With a quick glance at Pip, he continued. “You’ve just visited her, haven’t you? How do you feel?”

Pip looked away, to the path surrounding them, the half-dead greenery and the struggling stalks. “Rather ill.”

Herbert, arm still linked in Pip’s, stopped, bringing Pip to a halt beside him. Pip directed his full attention towards him. Something in his face looked open, honest. “And if you married her, would it change? She cannot love you. She has said so, and though I daresay I admire your optimism, Handel, I agree that she cannot love. Would you commit yourself to feel so poorly every waking moment? Would it not be better,” he said, “to seek love elsewhere?” When Pip did not respond, he continued, his words softer now. “When you left that house, Handel, you seemed the most upset I had ever seen you. I only wish you were never so again.”

Pip took a shaky breath, but still he could not find the words. His vision swam a little.

Herbert took pity on him, linking their arms once more. “Perhaps we ought to leave,” he said. “I can’t seem to find that damn tree here, anyway.”

Their walk was silent, Pip having retreated fully into his thoughts, Herbert quietly guiding him. When at last the house came back into view, Pip found himself once again sickened by the sight of it. The peeling paint, the creeping plants turned brown for lack of water; all seemed different, sharp in such an unpleasant way. Herbert tugged on his arm, pulling him from where he had stopped to stare towards the carriage. 

Once again, the carriage rattled and swayed. The book still lay where he had left it on the seat beside him. The letter still stuck out of the top. Pip dared not pick it up.

Again, Herbert indulged him in his unspoken request for silence. Pip’s mind churned, turning over the image of Estella in the hallway, the feeling of their combined gazes, the cut of Estella’s voice. Miss Havisham’s lilting tones, taunting him from the half-dark, the incivility of it all, even the maid at the door in turning Herbert away.

He lifted his gaze to Herbert. He was again fixated on the passing scenery—they were nearly all the way through town, Pip realized with a start—and had yet to say a word. Pip simply looked at him for a moment, appreciating the warmth he seemed to instill in Pip’s being just by sitting with him.

He must have looked a touch too long, for Herbert’s attention shifted from the scenery outside to the man that sat across from him. “Hello again, Handel,” he said with a wry smile, “have you come back to join me?”

“So I have,” Pip said. Despite himself, he smiled. But he sobered again. “I ought to apologize, Herbert, I’ve acted so impolite-”

Herbert interrupted. “My dear boy, there’s no need. I’m only glad to leave the house.” He cocked his head to the side. “And to advise you in the matters of the heart is hardly any trouble at all, if that is what you refer to.”

“Then you’ve forgiven me?” Pip asked.

“For whatever heinous acts you have imagined yourself to have committed? Of course.” Herbert laughed. “Of course I will forgive you.”

And Pip found himself so caught up in his laughter, the ease with which he forgave Pip, the loyalty of his friend, that he found himself overcome with the warmth welling up in his chest— _love_ , he would think later, of course it was love—that he could do little but lean forward to try to kiss him.

Herbert jolted backward, eyes wide. “Handel,” he said, though he was still close enough to feel the brush of his lips as he spoke, the warmth of his shoulders as the carriage jostled-

Pip returned his wide-eyed gaze. “Please,” he asked. And Herbert leaned forward to meet him.

They were separated again by a lurch of the cart, Pip falling forward against Herbert before righting himself. He was moments from begging another kiss out of the man when he, suddenly and unpleasantly, came to his senses. “Herbert,” he said, “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Herbert, who seemed understandably dazed, murmured, “Handel, when I said you ought to find love elsewhere… This is not quite what I imagined.”

Pip felt his cheeks warm from embarrassment. “I know. I don’t- I’m sorry. I beg of you to forgive me, Herbert, I’m not-” He couldn’t seem to grasp his swirling thoughts, instead resorting to spitting out apology after apology.

Herbert, once again, cut through with a smile and a light touch to his hand. “Handel. _Pip._ Must I again forgive you for the transgressions you have not committed? You have committed no act against me, for—though I’ll admit I had not expected your heart to give up Estella so easily—I cannot object to where your affections seem to have fallen next.”

Pip’s breath came quick. In a quiet voice, he managed, “Then- you’ll have me?”

Herbert’s smile widened. “Of course.”

Pip’s heart was in his throat. “Then may I kiss you again?”

With a sweet laugh, Herbert replied, “Of course. Though,” he added, “you may wish to draw the curtains."

Pip didn’t bother.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love making Pip sad :)  
> PS: shoutout to Emma for the title. Hey Emma!  
> As always, concrit is welcome!


End file.
